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in her objections, and not sufficiently overt in herlikings. We learn that it is not the rays which bodiesabsorb, but those which they reject, that give them thecolours they are known by; and win the same way peopleare specialized by their dislikes and antagonisms, whilsttheir goodwill is looked upon as no attribute at all.Henery continued in a more complaisant mood: "Ionce hinted my mind to her on a few things, as nearlyas a battered frame dared to do so to such a frowardpiece. You all know, neighbours, what a man I be,and how I come down with my powerful words whenmy pride is boiling wi' scarn?""We do, we do, Henery.""So I said, " Mistress Everdene, there's places empty,and there's gifted men willing; but the spite -- no. notthe spite -- I didn't say spite -- "but the villainy of thecontrarikind." I said (meaning womankind), " keeps 'emout." That wasn't too strong for her, say?""Passably well put.""Yes; and I would have said it, had death andsalvation overtook me for it. Such is my spirit when Ihave a mind.""A true man, and proud as a lucifer.""You see the artfulness? Why, 'twas about beingbaily really; but I didn't put it so plain that she couldunderstand my meaning, so I could lay it on all thestronger. That was my depth! ... However, let hermarry an she will. Perhaps 'tis high time. I believeFarmer Boldwood kissed her behind the spear-bed at thesheep-washing t'other day -- that I do.""What a lie!" said Gabriel."Ah, neighbour Oak -- how'st know?" said, Henery,mildly."Because she told me all that passed." said Oak, witha pharisaical sense that he was not as other shearers inthis matter."Ye have a right to believe it." said Henery, withdudgeon; "a very true right. But I mid see a littledistance into things! To be long-headed enough for abaily's place is a poor mere trifle -- yet a trifle more thannothing. However, I look round upon life quite cool.Do you heed me, neighbours? My words, though madeas simple as I can, mid be rather deep for some heads.""O yes, Henery, we quite heed ye.""A strange old piece, goodmen -- whirled about fromhere to yonder, as if I were nothing! A little warped,too. But I have my depths; ha, and even my greatdepths! I might gird at a certain shepherd, brain tobrain. But no -- O no!""A strange old piece, ye say!" interposed the maltster,in a querulous voice. "At the same time ye be no oldman worth naming -- no old man at all. Yer teethbain't half gone yet; and what's a old man's standingif se be his teeth bain't gone? Weren't I stale inwedlock afore ye were out of arms? 'Tis a poor thingto be sixty, when there's people far past four-score -- aboast'weak as water."It was the unvaying custom in Weatherbury tosink minor differences when the maltster had to bepacified."Weak as-water! yes." said Jan Coggan.- "Malter,we feel ye to be a wonderful veteran man, and nobodycan gainsay it.""Nobody." said Joseph Poorgrass. "Ye be a veryrare old spectacle, malter, and we all admire ye for thatgift. ""Ay, and as a young man, when my senses were inprosperity, I was likewise liked by a good-few whoknowed me." said the maltster."'Ithout doubt you was -- 'ithout doubt."The bent and hoary 'man was satisfied, and soapparently was Henery Frag. That matters shouldcontinue pleasant Maryann spoke, who, what with herbrown complexion, and the working wrapper of rustylinsey, had at present the mellow hue of an old sketchin oils -- notably some of Nicholas Poussin's: --"Do anybody know of a crooked man, or a lame, orany second-hand fellow at all that would do for poorme?" said Maryann. "A perfect one I don't expect to at my time of life. If I could hear of such a thingtwould do me more good than toast and ale."Coggan furnished a suitable reply. Oak went onwith his shearing, and said not another word. Pestilentmoods had come, and teased away his quiet. Bathshebahad shown indications of anointing him above hisfellows by installing him as the bailiff that the farmimperatively required. He did not covet the postrelatively to the farm: in relation to herself, as belovedby him and unmarried to another, he had coveted it.His readings of her seemed now to be vapoury andindistinct. His lecture to her was, he thought, one ofthe absurdest mistakes. Far from coquetting withBoldwood, she had trifled with himself in thus feigningthat she had trifled with another. He was inwardlyconvinced that, in accordance with the anticipations ofhis easy-going and worse-educated comrades, that daywould see Boldwood the accepted husband of MissEverdene. Gabriel at this time of his life had out-grown the instinctive dislike which every Christianboy has for reading the Bible, perusing it now quitefrequently, and he inwardly said, "I find more bitterthan death the woman whose heart is snares andnets!" This was mere exclamation -- the froth of thestorm. He adored Bathsheba just the same."We workfolk shall have some lordly- junketingto-night." said Cainy Ball, casting forth his thoughts ina new direction. "This morning I see'em making thegreat puddens in the milking-pails -- lumps of fat as bigas yer thumb, Mister Oak! I've never seed suchsplendid large knobs of fat before in the days of mylife -- they never used to be bigger then a horse-bean.And there was a great black crock upon the brandishwith his legs a-sticking out, but I don't know what wasin within.""And there's two bushels of biffins for apple-pies,"said Maryann."Well, I hope to do my duty by it all." said JosephPoorgrass, in a pleasant, masticating manner of anticipa-tion. "Yes; victuals and drink is a cheerful thing,and gives nerves to the nerveless, if the form of wordsmay be used. 'Tis the gospel of the body, withoutwhich we perish, so to speak it."

CHAPTER XXIII

EVENTIDE -- A SECOND DECLARATION

FOR the shearing-supper a long table was placed on thegrass-plot beside the house, the end of the table beingthrust over the sill of the wide parlour window and afoot or two into the room. Miss Everdene sat insidethe window, facing down the table. She was thus atthe head without mingling with the men.This evening Bathsheba was unusually excited, herred cheeks and lips contrasting lustrously with the mazyskeins of her shadowy hair. She seemed to expectassistance, and the seat at the bottom of the table wasat her request left vacant until after they had begunand the duties appertaining to that end, which he didwith great readiness.At this moment Mr. Boldwood came in at the gate,and crossed the green to Bathsheba at the window.He apologized for his lateness: his arrival was evidentlyby arrangement."Gabriel." said she, " will you move again, please,and let Mr. Boldwood come there?"Oak moved in silence back to his original seat.The gentleman-farmer was dressed in cheerful style,in a new coat and white waistcoat, quite contrastingwith his usual sober suits of grey. Inwardy, too, hewas blithe, and consequently chatty to an exceptionaldegree. So also was Bathsheba now that he had come,though the uninvited presence of Pennyways, the bailiffwho had been dismissed for theft, disturbed her equan-imity for a while.Supper being ended, Coggan began on his ownprivate account, without reference to listeners: --l've lost my love and l care not,I've lost my love, and l care not;I shall soon have anotherThat's better than t'other!I've lost my love, and I care not.This lyric, when concluded, was received with asilently appreciative gaze at the table, implying that theperformance, like a work by those established authorswho are independent of notices in the papers, was awell-known delight which required no applause."Now, Master Poorgrass, your song!" said Coggan."I be all but in liquor, and the gift is wanting inme." said Joseph, diminishing himself."Nonsense; wou'st never be so ungrateful, Joseph --never!" said Coggan, expressing hurt feelings by aninflection of voice. "And mistress is looking hard atye, as much as to say, "Sing at once, Joseph Poor-grass.""Faith, so she is; well, I must suffer it! ... Justeye my features, and see if the tell-tale blood overheatsme much, neighbours?""No, yer blushes be quite reasonable." said Coggan."I always tries to keep my colours from rising whena beauty's eyes get fixed on me." said Joseph, differently;"but if so be 'tis willed they do, they must.""Now, Joseph, your song, please." said Bathsheba,from the window."Well, really, ma'am." he replied, in a yielding tone,"I don't know what to say. It would be a poor plainballet of my own composure."Hear, hear!" said the supper-party.Poorgrass, thus assured, trilled forth a flickering yetcommendable piece of sentiment, the tune of whichconsisted of the key-note and another, the latter beingthe sound chiefly dwelt upon. This was so successfulthat he rashly plunged into a second in the samebreath, after a few false starts: --I sow'-ed th'-eI sow'-edI sow'-ed the'-e seeds' of love',I-it was' all' i'-in the'-e spring',I-in A'-pril', Ma'-ay, a'-nd sun'-ny' June',When sma'-all bi'-irds they' do' sing."Well put out of hand." said Coggan, at the end of theverse. `They do sing' was a very taking paragraph.""Ay; and there was a pretty place at "seeds oflove." and 'twas well heaved out. Though "love " isa nasty high corner when a man's voice is gettingcrazed. Next verse, Master Poorgrass."But during this rendering young Bob Coggan ex-hibited one of those anomalies which will afflict littlepeople when other persons are particularly serious: intrying to check his laughter, he pushed down his throatas much of the tablecloth as he could get hold of, when,after continuing hermetically sealed for a short time, hismirth burst out through his nose. Joseph perceived it,and with hectic cheeks of indignation instantly ceasedsinging. Coggan boxed Bob's ears immediately."Go on, Joseph -- go on, and never mind the youngscamp." said Coggan. "'Tis a very catching ballet.Now then again -- the next bar; I'll help ye to flourishup the shrill notes where yer wind is rather wheezy: --O the wi'-il-lo'-ow tree' will' twist',And the wil'-low' tre'-ee wi'ill twine'.But the singer could not be set going again. BobCoggan was sent home for his ill manners, and tran-quility was restored by Jacob Smallbury, who volunteereda ballad as inclusive and interminable as that with whichthe worthy toper old Silenus amused on a similar occasionthe swains Chromis and Mnasylus, and other jolly dogsof his day.It was still the beaming time of evening, thoughnight was stealthily making itself visible low down uponthe ground, the western lines of light taking the earthwithout alighting upon it to any extent, or illuminatingthe dead levels at all. The sun had crept round thetree as a last effort before death, and then began tosink, the shearers' lower parts becoming steeped inembrowning twilight, whilst their heads and shoulderswere still enjoying day, touched with a yellow of self-sustained brilliancy that seemed inherent rather thanacquired.The sun went down in an ochreous mist; but theysat, and talked on, and grew as merry as the gods inHomer's heaven. Bathsheba still remained enthronedinside the window, and occupied herself in knitting,from which she sometimes looked up to view the fadingscene outside. The slow twilight expanded and envelopedthem completely before the signs of moving were shown.Gabriel suddenly missed Farmer Boldwood from hisplace at the bottom of the table. How long he hadbeen gone Oak did not know; but he had apparentlywithdrawn into the encircling dusk. Whilst he wasthinking of this, Liddy brought candles into the backpart of the room overlooking the shearers, and theirlively new flames shone down the table and over themen, and dispersed among the green shadows behind.Bathsheba's form, still in its original position, was nowagain distinct between their eyes and the light, whichrevealed that Boldwood had gone inside the room, andwas sitting near her.Next came the question of the evening. Would MissEverdene sing to them the song she always sang socharmingly -- " The Banks of Allan Water" -- before theywent home?After a moment's consideration Bathsheba assented,beckoning to Gabriel, who hastened up into the covetedatmosphere."Have you brought your flute? " she whispered."Yes, miss.""Play to my singing, then."She stood up in the window-opening, facing themen, the candles behind her, Gabriel on her right hand,immediately outside the sash-frame. Boldwood haddrawn up on her left, within the room. Her singingwas soft and rather tremulous at first, but it soon swelledto a steady clearness. Subsequent events caused oneof the verses to be remembered for many months, andeven years, by more than one of those who were gatheredthere: --For his bride a soldier sought her,And a winning tongue had he:On the banks of Allan WaterNone was gay as she!In addition to the dulcet piping of Gabriel's flute,Boldwood supplied a bass in his customary profoundvoice, uttering his notes so softly, however, as to abstainentirely from making anything like an ordinary duet ofthe song; they rather formed a rich unexplored shadow,which threw her tones into relief. The shearers reclinedagainst each other as at suppers in the early ages of theworld, and so silent and absorbed were they that herbreathing could almost be heard between the bars; andat the end of the ballad, when the last tone loitered onto an inexpressible close, there arose that buzz ofpleasure which is the attar of applause.It is scarcely necessary to state that Gabriel couldnot avoid noting the farmer's bearing to-night towardstheir entertainer. Yet there was nothing exceptional inhis actions beyond what appertained to his time ofperforming them. It was when the rest were all lookingaway that Boldwood observed her; when they regardedher he turned aside; when they thanked or praised hewas silent; when they were inattentive he murmuredhis thanks. The meaning lay in the difference betweenactions, none of which had any meaning of itself;and the necessity of being jealous, which lovers aretroubled with, did not lead Oak to underestimate thesesigns.Bathsheba then wished them good-night, withdrewfrom the window, and retired to the back part of theroom, Boldwood thereupon closing the sash and theshutters, and remaining inside with her. Oak wanderedaway under the quiet and scented trees. Recoveringfrom the softer impressions produced by Bathsheba'svoice, the shearers rose to leave, Coggan turning toPennyways as he pushed back the bench to pass out: --"I like to give praise where praise is due, and theman deserves it -- that 'a do so." he remarked, looking atthe worthy thief, as if he were the masterpiece of someworld-renowned artist."I'm sure I should never have believed it if we hadn'tproved it, so to allude," hiccupped Joseph Poorgrass, "thatevery cup, every one of the best knives and forks, andevery empty bottle be in their place as perfect now asat the beginning, and not one stole at all."I'm sure I don't deserve half the praise you giveme." said the virtuous thief, grimly."Well, I'll say this for Pennyways." added Coggan,"that whenever he do really make up his mind to do anoble thing in the shape of a good action, as I couldsee by his face he. did to-night afore sitting down, he'sgenerally able to carry it out. Yes, I'm proud to say.neighbours, that he's stole nothing at all."Well." -- 'tis an honest deed, and we thank ye for it,Pennyways." said Joseph; to which opinion the remainderof the company subscribed unanimously. At this time of departure, when nothing more wasvisible of the inside of the parlour than a thin and stillchink of light between the shutters, a passionate scenewas in course of enactment there."Miss Everdene and Boldwood were alone. Hercheeks had lost a great deal of their healthful fire fromthe very seriousness of her position; but her eye wasbright with the excitement of a triumph -- though it wasa triumph which had rather been contemplated thandesired.She was standing behind a low arm-chair, from whichshe had just risen, and he was kneeling in it -- inclininghimself over its back towards her, and holding her handin both his own. His body moved restlessly, and it waswith what Keats daintily calls a too happy happiness.This unwonted abstraction by love of all dignity froma man of whom it had ever seemed the chief component,was, in its distressing incongruity, a pain to her whichquenched much of the pleasure she derived from theproof that she was idolized."I will try to love you." she was saying, in a tremblingvoice quite unlike her usual self-confidence. "And if Ican believe in any way that I shall make you a goodwife I shall indeed be willing to marry you. But, Mr.Boldwood, hesitation on so high a matter is honourablein any woman, and I don't want to give a solemnpromise to-night. I would rather ask you to wait a fewweeks till I can see my situation better."But you have every reason tobelieve that then -- -- ""I have every reason to hope that at the end of the five orsix weeks, between this time and harvest, thatyou say you are going to be away from home, I shall beable to promise to be your wife." she said, firmly. "Butremember this distinctly, I don't promise yet.""It is enough I don't ask more. I can wait onthose dear words. And now, Miss Everdene, good-night!""Good-night." she said, graciously -- almost tenderly;and Boldwood withdrew with a serene smile.Bathsheba knew more of him now; he had entirelybared his heart before her, even until he had almostworn in her eyes the sorry look of a grand bird withoutthe feathers that make it grand. She had been awe-struck at her past temerity, and was struggling to makeamends without thinking whether the sin quite deservedthe penalty she was schooling herself to pay. To havebrought all this about her ears was terrible; but after awhile the situation was not without a fearful joy. Thefacility with which even the most timid woman some-times acquire a relish for the dreadful when that isamalgamated with a little triumph, is marvellous.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SAME NIGHT -- THE FIR PLANTATION

AMONG the multifarious duties which Bathsheba hadvoluntarily imposed upon herself by dispensing with theservices of a bailiff, was the particular one of lookinground the homestead before going to bed, to see thatall was right and safe for the night. Gabriel had almostconstantly preceded her in this tour every evening,watching her affairs as carefully as any specially appointedofficer of surveillance could have done; but this tenderdevotion was to a great extent unknown to his mistress,and as much as was known was somewhat thanklesslyreceived. Women are never tired of bewailing man'sfickleness in love, but they only seem to snub his con-stancy.As watching is best done invisibly, she usually carrieda dark lantern in her hand, and every now and thenturned on the light to examine nooks and corners withthe coolness of a metropolitan policeman. This cool-ness may have owed its existence not so much to herfearlessness of expected danger as to her freedom fromthe suspicion of any; her worst anticipated discoverybeing that a horse might not be well bedded, the fowlsnot all in, or a door not closed.This night the buildings were inspected as usual,and she went round to the farm paddock. Here theonly sounds disturbing the stillness were steady munch-ings of many mouths, and stentorian breathings from allbut invisible noses, ending in snores and puffs like theblowing of bellows slowly. Then the munching wouldrecommence, when the lively imagination might assistthe eye to discern a group of pink-white nostrils, shapedas caverns, and very clammy and humid on their sur-faces, not exactly pleasant to the touch until one gotused to them; the mouths beneath having a greatpartiality for closing upon any loose end of Bathsheba'sapparel which came within reach of their tongues.Above each of these a still keener vision suggested abrown forehead and two staring though not unfriendlyeyes, and above all a pair of whitish crescent-shapedhorns like two particularly new moons, an occasionalstolid " moo!" proclaiming beyond the shade of a doubtthat these phenomena were the features and persons ofDaisy, Whitefoot, Bonny-lass, Jolly-O, Spot, Twinkle-eye,etc., etc. -- the respectable dairy of Devon cows belongingto Bathsheba aforesaid.Her way back to the house was by a path through ayoung plantation of tapering firs, which had been plantedsome years earlier to shelter the premises from the northwind. By reason of the density of the interwoven foliageoverhead, it was gloomy there at cloudless noontide,twilight in the evening, dark as midnight at dusk, andblack as the ninth plague of Egypt at midnight. Todescribe the spot is to call it a vast, low, naturally formedhall, the plumy ceiling of which was supported by slenderpillars of living wood, the floor being covered with a softdun carpet of dead spikelets and mildewed cones, witha tuft of grass-blades here and there.This bit of the path was always the crux of thenight's ramble, though, before starting, her apprehen-sions of danger were not vivid enough to lead her totake a companion. Slipping along here covertly asTime, Bathsheba fancied she could hear footsteps enter-ing the track at the opposite end. It was certainly arustle of footsteps. Her own instantly fell as gently assnowflakes. She reassured herself by a remembrancethat the path was public, and that the traveller wasprobably some villager returning home; regetting, atthe same time, that the meeting should be about tooccur in the darkest point of her route, even thoughonly just outside her own door.The noise approached, came close, and a figure wasapparently on the point of gliding past her when some-thing tugged at her skirt and pinned it forcibly to theground. The instantaneous check nearly threw Bath-sheba off her balance. In recovering she struck againstwarm clothes and buttons."A rum start, upon my soul!" said a masculine voice,a foot or so above her head. "Have I hurt you, mate?""No." said Bathsheba, attempting to shrink a way."We have got hitched together somehow, I think.""Yes.""Are you a woman?""Yes.""A lady, I should have said.""It doesn't matter.""I am a man.""Oh!"Bathsheba softly tugged again, but to no purpose."Is that a dark lantern you have? I fancy so." saidthe man."Yes.""If you'll allow me I'll open it, and set you free."A hand seized the lantern, the door was opened, therays burst out from their prison, and Bathsheba beheldher position with astonishment.The man to whom she was hooked was brilliant inbrass and scarlet. He was a soldier. His suddenappearance was to darkness what the sound of a trumpetis to silense. Gloom, the genius loci at all times hitherto,was now totally overthrown, less by the lantern-lightthan by what the lantern lighted. The contrast of thisrevelation with her anticipations of some sinister figurein sombre garb was so great that it had upon her theeffect of a fairy transformation.It was immediately apparent that the military man'sspur had become entangled in the gimp which decoratedthe skirt of her dress. He caught a view of her face."I'll unfasten you in one moment, miss." he said,with new-born gallantry."O no -- I can do it, thank you." she hastily replied,and stooped for the performance.The unfastening was not such a trifling affair. Therowel of the spur had so wound itself among the gimpcords in those few moments, that separation was likelyto be a matter of time.He too stooped, and the lantern standing on theground betwixt them threw the gleam from its open sideamong the fir-tree needles and the blades of long dampgrass with the effect of a large glowworm. It radiatedupwards into their faces, and sent over half the planta-tion gigantic shadows of both man and woman, eachdusky shape becoming distorted and mangled upon thetree-trunks till it wasted to nothing.He looked hard into her eyes when she raised themfor a moment; Bathsheba looked down again, for hisgaze was too strong to be received point-blank with herown. But she had obliquely noticed that he was youngand slim, and that he wore three chevrons upon hissleeve.Bathsheba pulled again."You are a prisoner, miss; it is no use blinking thematter." said the soldier, drily. "I must cut your dressif you are in such a hurry.""Yes -- please do!" she exclaimed, helplessly. ""It wouldn't be necessary if you could wait amoment," and he unwound a cord from the littlewheel. She withdrew her own hand, but, whether byaccident or design, he touched it. Bathsheba wasvexed; she hardly knew why.His unravelling went on, but it nevertheless seemedcoming to no end. She looked at him again."Thank you for the sight of such a beautiful face!"said the young sergeant, without ceremony.She coloured with embarrassment. "'Twas un-willingly shown." she replied, stiffly, and with as muchdignity -- which was very little -- as she could infuse intoa position of captivity"I like you the better for that incivility, miss." hesaid."I should have liked -- I wish -- you had never shownyourself to me by intruding here!" She pulled again,and the gathers of her dress began to give way likeliliputian musketry."I deserve the chastisement your words give me.But why should such a fair and dutiful girl have suchan aversion to her father's sex?""Go on your way, please.""What, Beauty, and drag you after me? Do butlook; I never saw such a tangle!""O, 'tis shameful of you; you have been makingit worse on purpose to keep me here -- you have!""Indeed, I don't think so." said the sergeant, with amerry twinkle."I tell you you have!" she exclaimed, in hightemper. I insist upon undoing it. Now, allow me!""Certainly, miss; I am not of steel." He added asigh which had as much archness in it as a sigh couldpossess without losing its nature altogether. "I amthankful for beauty, even when 'tis thrown to me likea bone to a dog. These moments will be over toosoon!"She closed her lips in a determined silence.Bathsheba was revolving in her mind whether by abold and desperate rush she could free herself at therisk of leaving her skirt bodily behind her. Thethought was too dreadful. The dress -- which she hadput on to appear stately at the supper -- was the headand front of her wardrobe; not another in her stockbecame her so well. What woman in Bathsheba'sposition, not naturally timid, and within call of herretainers, would have bought escape from a dashingsoldier at so dear a price?"All in good time; it will soon be done, I perceive,"said her cool friend."This trifling provokes, and -- and -- -- ""Not too cruel!""-- Insults me!""It is done in order that I may have the pleasureof apologizing to so charming a woman, which Istraightway do most humbly, madam." he said, bowinglow.Bathsheba really knew not what to say."I've seen a good many women in my time,continued the young man in a murmur, and morethoughtfully than hitherto, critically regarding her benthead at the same time; "but I've never seen a womanso beautiful as you. Take it or leave it -- be offendedor like it -- I don't care.""Who are you, then, who can so well afford todespise opinion?""No stranger. Sergeant Troy. I am staying inthis place. -- There! it is undone at last, you see.Your light fingers were more eager than mine. I wish ithad been the knot of knots, which there's no untying!"This was worse and worse. She started up, and sodid he. How to decently get away from him -- thatwas her difficulty now. She sidled off inch by inch,the lantern in her hand, till she could see the rednessof his coat no longer."Ah, Beauty; good-bye!" he said.She made no reply, and, reaching a distance oftwenty or thirty yards, turned about, and ran indoors.Liddy had just retired to rest. In ascending to herown chamber, Bathsheba opened the girl's door aninch or two, and, panting, said --"Liddy, is any soldier staying in the village --sergeant somebody -- rather gentlemanly for a sergeant,and good looking -- a red coat with blue facings?""No, miss ... No, I say; but really it might beSergeant Troy home on furlough, though I have notseen him. He was here once in that way when theregiment was at Casterbridge.""Yes; that's the name. Had he a moustache -- nowhiskers or beard?""He had.""What kind of a person is he?""O! miss -- I blush to name it -- a gay man! ButI know him to be very quick and trim, who might havemade his thousands, like a squire. Such a cleveryoung dandy as he is! He's a doctor's son by name,which is a great deal; and he's an earl's son bynature!""Which is a great deal more. Fancy! Is it true?""Yes. And, he was brought up so well, and sent toCasterbridge Grammar School for years and years.Learnt all languages while he was there; and it wassaid he got on so far that he could take down Chinesein shorthand; but that I don't answer for, as it wasonly reported. However, he wasted his gifted lot,and listed a soldier; but even then he rose to be asergeant without trying at all. Ah! such a blessing itis to be high-born; nobility of blood will shine out evenin the ranks and files. And is he really come home,miss?""I believe so. Good-night, Liddy."After all, how could a cheerful wearer of skirtsbe permanently offended with the man? There areoccasions when girls like Bathsheba will put up witha great deal of unconventional behaviour. When theywant to be praised, which is often, when they want tobe mastered, which is sometimes; and when they wantno nonsense, which is seldom. Just now the firstfeeling was in the ascendant with Bathsheba, with a dashof the second. Moreover, by chance or by devilry, theministrant was antecedently made interesting by beinga handsome stranger who had evidently seen betterdays.So she could not clearly decide whether it was heropinion that he had insulted her or not. ""Was ever anything so odd!" she at last exclaimedto herself, in her own room. "And was ever anythingso meanly done as what I did do to sulk away like thatfrom a man who was only civil and kind!" Clearly shedid not think his barefaced praise of her person aninsult now.It was a fatal omission of Boldwood's that he hadnever once told her she was beautiful.

CHAPTER XXV

THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE DESCRIBED

IDIOSYNCRASY and vicissitude had combined tostamp Sergeant Troy as an exceptional being.He was a man to whom memories were an in-cumbrance, and anticipations a superfluity. Simplyfeeling, considering, and caring for what was before hiseyes, he was vulnerable only in the present. His out-look upon time was as a transient flash of the eye nowand then: that projection of consciousness into daysgone by and to come, which makes the past a synonymfor the pathetic and the future a word for circum-spection, was foreign to Troy. With him the pastwas yesterday; the future, to-morrow; never, the dayafter.On this account he might, in certain lights, havebeen regarded as one of the most fortunate of hisorder. For it may be argued with great plausibilitythat reminiscence is less an endowment than a disease,and that expectation in its only comfortable form -- thatof absolute faith -- is practically an impossibility; whilstin the form of hope and the secondary compounds,patience, impatience, resolve, curiosity, it is a constantfluctuation between pleasure and pain.Sergeant Troy, being entirely innocent of thepractice of expectation, was never disappointed. Toset against this negative gain there may have beensome positive losses from a certain narrowing of thehigher tastes and sensations which it entailed. Butlimitation of the capacity is never recognized as a lossby the loser therefrom: in this attribute moral oraesthetic poverty contrasts plausibly with material, sincethose who suffer do not mind it, whilst those who mindit soon cease to suffer. It is not a denial of anythingto have been always without it, and what Troy hadnever enjoyed he did not miss; but, being fullyconscious that what sober people missed he enjoyed,his capacity, though really less, seemed greater thantheirs.He was moderately truthful towards men, but towomen lied like a Cretan -- a system of ethics above allothers calculated to win popularity at the first flush ofadmission into lively society; and the possibility of thefavour gained being transitory had reference only tothe future.He never passed the line which divides the sprucevices from the ugly; and hence, though his morals hadhardly been applauded, disapproval of them" had fre-quently been tempered with a smile. This treatmenthad led to his becoming a sort of regrater of othermen's gallantries, to his own aggrandizement as aCorinthian, rather than to the moral profit of hishearers.His reason and his propensities had seldom anyreciprocating influence, having separated by mutualconsent long ago: thence it sometimes happened that,while his intentions were as honourable as could bewished, any particular deed formed a dark backgroundwhich threw them into fine relief. The sergeant'svicious phases being the offspring of impulse, andhis virtuous phases of cool meditation, the latterhad a modest tendency to be oftener heard of thanseen.Troy was full of activity, but his activities were less ofa locomotive than a vegetative nature; and, never beingbased upon any original choice of foundation or direc-tion, they were exercised on whatever object chancemight place in their way. Hence, whilst he sometimesreached the brilliant in speech because that -wasspontaneous, he fell below the commonplace in action,from inability to guide incipient effort. He had aquick comprehension and considerable force of char-acter; but, being without the power to combine them,the comprehension became engaged with trivialitieswhilst waiting for the will to direct it, and the forcewasted itself in useless grooves through unheeding thecomprehension.He was a fairly well-educated man for one of middleclass -- exceptionally well educated for a common soldier.He spoke fluently and unceasingly. He could in thisway be one thing and seem another: for instance, hecould speak of love and think of dinner; call on theintend to owe.The wondrous power of flattery in passados at womanis a perception so universal as to be remarked upon bymany people almost as automatically as they repeat aproverb, or say that they are Christians and the like,without thinking much of the enormous corollarieswhich spring from the proposition. Still less is it actedupon for the good of the complemental being alludedto. With the majority such an opinion is shelved withall those trite aphorisms which require some catastropheto bring their tremendous meanings thoroughly home.When expressed with some amount of reflectiveness itseems co-ordinate with a belief that this flattery mustbe reasonable to be effective. It is to the credit ofmen that few attempt to settle the question by experi-ment, and it is for their happiness, perhaps, that accidenthas never settled it for them. Nevertheless, that amale dissembler who by deluging her with untenablefictions charms the female wisely, may acquire powersreaching to the extremity of perdition, is a truth taughtto many by unsought and wringing occurrences. Andsome profess to have attained to the same knowledgeby experiment as aforesaid, and jauntily continue theirindulgence in such experiments with terrible effect.Sergeant Troy was one.He had been known to observe casually that indealing with womankind the only alternative to flatterywas cursing and swearing. There was no third method."Treat them fairly, and you are a lost man." he wouldsay.This philosopher's public appearance in Weatherburypromptly followed his arrival there. A week or twoafter the shearing, Bathsheba, feeling a nameless reliefof spirits on account of Boldwood's absence, approachedher hayfields and looked over the hedge towards thehaymakers. They consisted in about equal proportionsof gnarled and flexuous forms, the former being themen, the latter the women, who wore tilt bonnetscovered with nankeen, which hung in a curtain upontheir shoulders. Coggan and Mark Clark were mowingin a less forward meadow, Clark humming a tune tothe strokes of his scythe, to which Jan made no attemptto keep time with his. In the first mead they werealready loading hay, the women raking it into cocksand windrows, and the men tossing it upon thewaggon.From behind the waggon a bright scarlet spotemerged, and went on loading unconcernedly with therest. It was the gallant sergeant, who had come hay-making for pleasure; and nobody could deny that hewas doing the mistress of the farm real knight-serviceby this voluntary contribution of his labour at a busytime.As soon as she had entered the field Troy saw her,and sticking his pitchfork into the ground and pickingup his crop or cane, he came forward. Bathshebablushed with half-angry embarrassment, and adjustedher eyes as well as her feet to the direct line of herpath.

CHAPTER XXVI

SCENE ON THE VERGE OF THE HAY-MEAD

"AH, Miss Everdene!" said the sergeant, touching hisdiminutive cap. "Little did I think it was you I wasspeaking to the other night. And yet, if I had reflected,the "Queen of the Corn-market" (truth is truth at anyhour of the day or night, and I heard you so named inCasterbridge yesterday), the "Queen of the Corn-market."I say, could be no other woman. I step across now tobeg your forgiveness a thousand times for having beenled by my feelings to express myself too strongly for astranger. To be sure I am no stranger to the place --I am Sergeant Troy, as I told you, and I have assistedyour uncle in these fields no end of times when I was alad. I have been doing the same for you today.""I suppose I must thank you for that, SergeantTroy." said the Queen of the Corn-market, in an in-differently grateful tone.The sergeant looked hurt and sad. "Indeed youmust not, Miss Everdene." he said. "Why could youthink such a thing necessary?""I am glad it is not.""Why? if I may ask without offence.""Because I don't much want to thank you for any"thing.""I am afraid I have made a hole with my tonguethat my heart will never mend. O these intolerabletimes: that ill-luck should follow a man for honestlytelling a woman she is beautiful! 'Twas the most Isaid -- you must own that; and the least I could say --that I own myself.""There is some talk I could do without more easilythan money.""Indeed. That remark is a sort of digression.""No. It means that I would rather have your roomthan your company.""And I would rather have curses from you thankisses from any other woman; so I'll stay here."Bathsheba was absolutely speechless. And yet shecould not help feeling that the assistance he was render-ing forbade a harsh repulse."Well." continued Troy, "I suppose there is a praisewhich is rudeness, and that may be mine. At thesame time there is a treatment which is injustice, andthat may be yours. Because a plain blunt man, whohas never been taught concealment, speaks out hismind without exactly intending it, he's to be snappedoff like the son of a sinner.""Indeed there's no such case between us." she said,turning away. "I don't allow strangers to be bold andimpudent -- even in praise of me.""Ah -- it is not the fact but the method which offendsyou." he said, carelessly. "But I have the sad satis-faction of knowing that my words, whether pleasing oroffensive, are unmistakably true. Would you have hadme look at you, and tell my acquaintance that you arequite a common-place woman, to save you the embar-rassment of being stared at if they come near you?Not I. I couldn't tell any such ridiculous lie abouta beauty to encourage a single woman in England intoo excessive a modesty.""It is all pretence -- what you are saying!" exclaimedBathsheba, laughing in spite of herself at the sergeant'ssly method. "You have a rare invention, SergeantTroy. Why couldn't you have passed by me thatnight, and said nothing? -- that was all I meant toreproach you for.""Because I wasn't going to. Half the pleasure ofa feeling lies in being able to express it on the spur ofthe moment, and I let out mine. It would have beenjust the same if you had been the reverse person -- uglyand old -- I should have exclaimed about it in the sameway. ""How long is it since you have been so afflicted withstrong feeling, then?""Oh, ever since I was big enough to know lovelinessfrom deformity.""'Tis to be hoped your sense of the difference youspeak of doesn't stop at faces, but extends to morals aswell. ""I won't speak of morals or religion -- my own oranybody else's. Though perhaps I should have been avery good Christian if you pretty women hadn't mademe an idolater."Bathsheba moved on to hide the irrepressible dimp-lings of merriment. Troy followed, whirling his crop."But -- Miss Everdene -- you do forgive me?""Hardly. ""Why?""You say such things.""I said you were beautiful, and I'll say so still; for,by -- so you are! The most beautiful ever I saw, ormay I fall dead this instant! Why, upon my -- -- ""Don't -- don't! I won't listen to you -- you are soprofane!" she said, in a restless state between distressat hearing him and a penchant to hear more."I again say you are a most fascinating woman.There's nothing remarkable in my saying so, is there?I'm sure the fact is evident enough. Miss Everdene,my opinion may be too forcibly let out to please you,and, for the matter of that, too insignificant to convinceyou, but surely it is honest, and why can't it be ex-cused? ""Because it -- it isn't a correct one." she femininelymurmured."O, fie -- fie-! Am I any worse for breaking thethird of that Terrible Ten than you for breaking theninth?""Well, it doesn't seem quite true to me that I amfascinating." she replied evasively."Not so to you: then I say with all respect that, ifso, it is owing to your modesty, Miss Everdene. Butsurely you must have been told by everybody of whateverybody notices? and you should take their wordsfor it.""They don't say so exactly.""O yes, they must!""Well, I mean to my face, as you do." she went on,allowing herself to be further lured into a conversationthat intention had rigorously forbidden."But you know they think so?""No -- that is -- I certainly have heard Liddy saythey do, but -- --" She paused.Capitulation -- that was the purport of the simplereply, guarded as it was -- capitulation, unknown to her-self. Never did a fragile tailless sentence convey amore perfect meaning. The careless sergeant smiledwithin himself, and probably too the devil smiled froma loop-hole in Tophet, for the moment was the turning-point of a career. Her tone and mien signified beyondmistake that the seed which was to lift the foundationhad taken root in the chink: the remainder was a merequestion of time and natural changes."There the truth comes out!" said the soldier, inreply. "Never tell me that a young lady can live in abuzz of admiration without knowing something about it.Ah." well, Miss Everdene, you are -- pardon my bluntway -- you are rather an injury to our race than other-wise."How -- indeed?" she said, opening her eyes."O, it is true enough. I may as well be hung fora sheep as a lamb (an old country saying, not of muchaccount, but it will do for a rough soldier), and so Iwill speak my mind, regardless of your pleasure, andwithout hoping or intending to get your pardon. Why,Miss Everdene, it is in this manner that your goodlooks may do more. harm than good in the world."The sergeant looked down the mead in critical abstrac-ion. "Probably some one man on an average falls in"love, with each ordinary woman. She can marry him:he is content, and leads a useful life. Such women asyou a hundred men always covet -- your eyes will be-witch scores on scores into an unavailing fancy for youyou can only marry one of that many. Out of thesesay twenty will endeavour to. drown the bitterness ofespised love in drink; twenty more will mope awaytheir lives without a wish or attempt to make a mark inhe world, because they have no ambition apart fromtheir attachment to you; twenty more -- the susceptibleperson myself possibly among them -- will be alwaysdraggling after you, getting where they may just seeyou, doing desperate things. Men are such constantfools! The rest may try to get over their passion withmore or less success. But all these men will besaddened. And not only those ninety-nine men, butthe ninety-nine women they might have married aresaddened with them. There's my tale. That's why Isay that a woman so charming as yourself, Miss Ever-dene, is hardly a blessing to her race."The handsome sergeant's features were during thisspeech as rigid and stern as John Knox's in addressinghis gay young queen.Seeing she made no reply, he said, "Do you readFrench?""No; I began, but when I got to the verbs, fatherdied." she said simply."I do -- when I have an opportunity, which latterlyhas not been often (my mother was a Parisienne) -- andthere's a proverb they have, Qui aime bien chatie bien -- "He chastens who loves well." Do you understandme?"Ah!" she replied, and there was even a little tremu-lousness in the usually cool girl's voice; "if you canonly fight half as winningly as you can talk, you areable to make a pleasure of a bayonet wound!" Andthen poor Bathsheba instantly perceived her slip inmaking this admission: in hastily trying to retrieve it,she went from bad to worse. "Don't, however, supposethat I derive any pleasure from what you tell me.""I know you do not -- I know it perfectly." said Troy,with much hearty conviction on the exterior of his face:and altering the expression to moodiness; "when adozen men arfe ready to speak tenderly to you, andgive the admiration you deserve without adding thewarning you need, it stands to reason that my poorrough-and-ready mixture of praise and blame cannotconvey much pleasure. Fool as I may be, I am not soconceited as to suppose that!""I think you -- are conceited, nevertheless." saidBathsheba, looking askance at a reed she was fitfullypulling with one hand, having lately grown feverishunder the soldier's system of procedure -- not becausethe nature of his cajolery was entirely unperceived, butbecause its vigour was overwhelming."I would not own it to anybody else -- nor do Iexactly to you. Still, there might have been some self-conceit in my foolish supposition the other night. Iknew that what I said in admiration might be anopinion too often forced upon you to give any pleasurebut I certainly did think that the kindness of yournature might prevent you judging an uncontrolledtongue harshly -- which you have done -- and thinkingbadly of me and wounding me this morning, when Iam working hard to save your hay.""Well, you need not think more of that: perhaps youdid not mean to be rude to me by speaking out yourmind: indeed, I believe you did not." said the shrewdwoman, in painfully innocent earnest. "And I thankyou for giving help here. But -- but mind you don'tspeak to me again in that way, or in any other, unlessI speak to you.""O, Miss Bathsheba! That is to hard!""No, it isn't. Why is it?""You will never speak to me; for I shall not behere long. I am soon going back again to the miser-able monotony of drill -- and perhaps our regiment willbe ordered out soon. And yet you take away the onelittle ewe-lamb of pleasure that I have in this dull lifeof mine. Well, perhaps generosity is not a woman'smost marked characteristic.""When are you going from here?" she asked, withsome interest."In a month.""But how can it give you pleasure to speak to me?""Can you ask Miss Everdene -- knowing as you do -- what my offence is based on?""I you do care so much for a silly trifle of thatkind, then, I don't mind doing it." she uncertainly anddoubtingly answered. "But you can't really care for aword from me? you only say so -- I think you onlysay so.""that's unjust -- but I won't repeat the remark. Iam too gratified to get such a mark of your friendshipat any price to cavil at the tone. I do Miss Everdene,care for it. You may think a man foolish to want amere word -- just a good morning. Perhaps he is -- Idon't know. But you have never been a man lookingupon a woman, and that woman yourself.""Well.""Then you know nothing of what such an experienceis like -- and Heaven forbid that you ever should!""Nonsense, flatterer! What is it like? I aminterested in knowing.""Put shortly, it is not being able to think, hear, orlook in any direction except one without wretchedness,nor there without torture.""Ah, sergeant, it won't do -- you are pretending!" shesaid, shaking her head." Your words are too dashingto be true.""I am not, upon the honour of a soldier""But why is it so? -- Of course I ask for mere pas-time."Because you are so distracting -- and I am sodistracted. ""You look like it.""I am indeed.""Why, you only saw me the other night!""That makes no difference. The lightning works in-stantaneously. I loved you then, at once -- as I do now."Bathsheba surveyed him curiously, from the feetupward, as high as she liked to venture her glance,which was not quite so high as his eyes."You cannot and you don"t." she said demurely."There is-no such sudden feeling in people. I won'tlisten to you any longer. Hear me, I wish I knew whato'clock it is -- I am going -- I have wasted too much timehere already!"The sergeant looked at his watch and told her."What, haven't you a watch, miss?" he inquired."I have not just at present -- I am about to get anew one.""No. You shall be given one. Yes -- you shall.A gift, Miss Everdene -- a gift."And before she knew what the young -- man wasintending, a heavy gold watch was in her hand."It is an unusually good one for a man like me topossess." he quietly said. "That watch has a history.Press the spring and open the back."She did so."What do you see?""A crest and a motto.""A coronet with five points, and beneath, Cedit amorrebus -- "Love yields to circumstance." It's the mottoof the Earls of Severn. That watch belonged to thelast lord, and was given to my mother's husband, amedical man, for his use till I came of age, when it wasto be given to me. It was all the fortune that ever Iinherited. That watch has regulated imperial interestsin its time -- the stately ceremonial, the courtly assigna-tion, pompous travels, and lordly sleeps. Now it isyours."But, Sergeant Troy, I cannot take this -- I cannot!"she exclaimed, with round-eyed wonder. "A gold watch!What are you doing? Don't be such a dissembler!"The sergeant retreated to avoid receiving back hisgift, which she held out persistently towards him.Bathsheba followed as he retired."Keep it -- do, Miss Everdene -- keep it!" said theerratic child of impulse. "The fact of your possessingit makes it worth ten times as much to me. A moreplebeian one will answer my purpose just as well, andthe pleasure of knowing whose heart my old one beatsagainst -- well, I won't speak of that. It is in farworthier hands than ever it has been in before.""But indeed I can't have it!" she said, in a perfectsimmer of distress. "O, how can you do such a thing;that is if you really mean it! Give me your deadfather's watch, and such a valuable one! You shouldnot be so reckless, indeed, Sergeant Troy!""I loved my father: good; but better, I love youmore. That's how I can do it." said the sergeant, withan intonation of such exquisite fidelity to nature that it.was evidently not all acted now. Her beauty, which,whilst it had been quiescent, he had praised in jest,had in its animated phases moved him to earnest; andthough his seriousness was less than she imagined, itwas probably more than he imagined himself.Bathsheba was brimming with agitated bewilderment,and she said, in half-suspicious accents of feeling, "Canit be! O, how can it be, that you care for me, andso suddenly,! You have seen so little of me: I maynot be really so -- so nice-looking as I seem to you.Please, do take it; O, do! I cannot and will not haveit. Believe me, your generosity is too great. I havenever done you a single kindness, and why should yoube so kind to me?"A factitious reply had been again upon his lips, butit was again suspended, and he looked at her with anarrested eye. The truth was, that as she now stood --excited, wild, and honest as the day -- her alluringbeauty bore out so fully the epithets he had bestowedupon it that he was quite startled at his temerity inadvancing them as false. He said mechanically, "Ah,why?" and continued to look at her."And my workfolk see me following you about thefield, and are wondering. O, this is dreadful!" shewent on, unconscious of the transmutation she waseffecting."I did not quite mean you to accept it at first, for itas my one poor patent of nobility." he broke out,bluntly; "but, upon my soul, I wish you would now.Without any shamming, come! Don't deny me thehappiness of wearing it for my sake? But you are toolovely even to care to be kind as others are.""No, no; don"t say so! I have reasons for reservewhich I cannot explain.""bet it be, then, let it be." he said, receiving backthe watch at last; "I must be leaving you now. Andwill you speak to me for these few weeks of my stay?""Indeed I will. Yet, I don't know if I will! O,why did you come and disturb me so!""Perhaps in setting a gin, I have caught myself.Such things have happened. Well, will you let mework in your fields?" he coaxed."Yes, I suppose so; if it is any pleasure to you.""Miss Everdene, I thank you."No, no.""Good-bye!"The sergeant brought his hand to the cap on theslope of his head, saluted, and returned to the distantgroup of haymakers.Bathsheba could not face the haymakers now. Herheart erratically flitting hither and thither from per-plexed excitement, hot, and almost tearful, she retreatedhomeward, murmuring, O, what have I done! Whatdoes it mean! I wish I knew how much of it wastrue!

CHAPTER XXVII

HIVING THE BEES

THE Weatherbury bees were late in their swarming thisyear. It was in the latter part of June, and the day afterthe interview with Troy in the hayfield, that Bathshebawas standing in her garden, watching a swarm in theair and guessing their probable settling place. Not onlywere they late this year, but unruly. Sometimes through-out a whole season all the swarms would alight on thelowest attainable bough -- such as part of a currant-bushor espalier apple-tree; next year they would, with justthe same unanimity, make straight off to the uppermostmember of some tall, gaunt costard, or quarrenden,and there defy all invaders who did not come armedwith ladders and staves to take them.This was the case at present. Bathsheba's eyes,shaded by one hand, were following the ascendingmultitude against the unexplorable stretch of blue tillthey ultimately halted by one of the unwieldy treesspoken of. A process somewhat analogous to that ofalleged formations of the universe, time and times ago,was observable. The bustling swarm had swept the skyin a scattered and uniform haze, which now thickened toa nebulous centre: this glided on to a bough and grewstill denser, till it formed a solid black spot upon thelight.The men and women being all busily engaged insaving the hay -- even Liddy had left the house for thepurpose of lending a hand -- Bathsheba resolved to hivethe bees herself, if possible. She had dressed the hivewith herbs and honey, fetched a ladder, brush, andcrook, made herself impregnable with armour of leathergloves, straw hat, and large gauze veil -- once green butnow faded to snuff colour -- and ascended a dozen rungsof the ladder. At once she heard, not ten yards off,a voice that was beginning to have a strange power inagitating her."Miss Everdene, let me assist you; you should notattempt such a thing alone."Troy was just opening the garden gate.Bathsheba flung down the brush, crook, and emptyhive, pulled the skirt of her dress tightly round herankles in a tremendous flurry, and as well as she couldslid down the ladder. By the time she reached thebottom Troy was there also, and he stooped to pickup the hive."How fortunate I am to have dropped in at thismoment!" exclaimed the sergeant.She found her voice in a minute. "What! and willyou shake them in for me?" she asked, in what, for adefiant girl, was a faltering way; though, for a timidgirl, it would have seemed a brave way enough."Will I!" said Troy. "Why, of course I will. Howblooming you are to-day!" Troy flung down his caneand put his foot on the ladder to ascend."But you must have on the veil and gloves, or you'llbe stung fearfully!""Ah, yes. I must put on the veil and gloves. Willyou kindly show me how to fix them properly?""And you must have the broad-brimmed hat, too, foryour cap has no brim to keep the veil off, and they'dreach your face.""The broad-brimmed hat, too, by all means."So a whimsical fate ordered that her hat should betaken off -- veil and all attached -- and placed upon hishead, Troy tossing his own into a gooseberry bush.Then the veil had to be tied at its lower edge roundhis collar and the gloves put on him.He looked such an extraordinary object in this guisethat, flurried as she was, she could not avoid laughingoutright. It was the removal of yet another stake fromthe palisade of cold manners which had kept him offBathsheba looked on from the ground whilst he wasbusy sweeping and shaking the bees from the tree,holding up the hive with the other hand for them tofall into. She made use of an unobserved minutewhilst his attention was absorbed in the operation toarrange her plumes a little. He came down holdingthe hive at arm's length, behind which trailed a cloudof bees."Upon my life." said Troy, through the veil," holdingup this hive makes one's arm ache worse than a weekof sword-exercise." When the manoeuvre was completehe approached her. "Would you be good enough tountie me and let me out? I am nearly stifled insidethis silk cage."To hide her embarrassment during the unwontedprocess of untying the string about his neck, she said: --"I have never seen that you spoke of.""What?""The sword-exercise.""Ah! would you like to?" said Troy.Bathsheba hesitated. She had heard wondrousreports from time to time by dwellers in Weatherbury,who had by chance sojourned awhile in Casterbridge,near the barracks, of this strange and glorious perform-ance, *tlie sword-exercise. Men and boys who hadpeeped through chinks or over walls into the barrack-yard returned with accounts of its being the mostflashing affair conceivable; accoutrements and weaponsglistening like stars-here,there,around-yet all by ruleand compass. So she said mildly what she felt strongly."Yes; I should like to see it very much.""And so you shall; you shall see me go through it.""No! How?""Let me consider.""Not with a walking-stick -- I don't care to see that.lt must be a real sword.""Yes, I know; and I have no sword here; but Ithink I could get one by the evening. Now, will youdo this?""O no, indeed!" said Bathsheba, blushing." Thankyou very much, but I couldn't on any account."Surely you might? Nobody would know."She shook her head, but with a weakened negation."If I were to." she said, "I must bring Liddy too. MightI not?"Troy looked far away. "I don't see why you wantto bring her." he said coldly.An unconscious look of assent in Bathsheba's eyesbetrayed that something more than his coldness hadmade her also feel that Liddy Would be superfluous inthe suggested scene. She had felt it, even whilst makingthe proposal."Well, I won't bring Liddy -- and I'll come. Butonly for a very short time." she added; "a very shorttime.""It will not take five minutes." said Troy.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HOLLOW AMID THE FERNS

THE hill opposite Bathsheba's dwelling extended, amile off, into an uncultivated tract of land, dotted atthis season with tall thickets of brake fern, plump anddiaphanous from recent rapid growth, and radiant inhues of clear and untainted green.At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, whilst thebristling ball of gold in the west still swept the tips ofthe ferns with its long, luxuriant rays, a soft brushing-by of garments might have been heard among them,and Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft,feathery arms caressing her up to her shoulders. Shepaused, turned, went back over the hill and half-wayto her own door, whence she cast a farewell glance uponthe spot she had just left, having resolved not to remainnear the place after all.She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving roundthe shoulder of the rise. It disappeared on the otherside.She waited one minute -- two minutes -- thought ofTroy's disappointment at her non-fulfilment of a promisedengagement, till she again ran along the field, clamberedover the bank, and followed the original direction. Shewas now literally trembling and panting at this hertemerity in such an errant undertaking; her breathcame and went quickly, and her eyes shone with an in-frequent light. Yet go she must. She reached theverge of a pit in the middle of the ferns. Troy stoodin the bottom, looking up towards her."I heard you rustling through the fern before I sawyou." he said, coming up and giving her his hand to helpher down the slope.The pit was a saucer-shaped concave, naturallyformed, with a top diameter of about thirty feet, andshallow enough to allow the sunshine to reach theirheads. Standing in the centre, the sky overhead wasmet by a circular horizon of fern: this grew nearly tothe bottom of the slope and then abruptly ceased. Themiddle within the belt of verdure was floored with athick flossy carpet of moss and grass intermingled, soyielding that the foot was half-buried within it."Now." said Troy, producing the sword, which, as heraised it into the sunlight, gleamed a sort of greeting,like a living thing, "first, we have four right and fourleft cuts; four right and four left thrusts. Infantry cutsand guards are more interesting than ours, to my mind;but they are not so swashing. They have seven cutsand three thrusts. So much as a preliminary. Well,next, our cut one is as if you were sowing your corn --so." Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down inthe air, and Troy's arm was still again. "Cut two, as ifyou were hedging -- so. Three, as if you were reaping -- so." Four, as if you were threshing -- in that way."Then the same on the left. The thrusts are these: one,two, three, four, right; one, two, three, four, left." Herepeated them. "Have 'em again?" he said. "One,two -- -- "She hurriedly interrupted: "I'd rather not; thoughI don't mind your twos and fours; but your ones andthrees are terrible!""Very well. I'll let you off the ones and threes.Next, cuts, points and guards altogether." Troy dulyexhibited them. "Then there's pursuing practice, inthis way." He gave the movements as before. "There,those are the stereotyped forms. The infantry havetwo most diabolical upward cuts, which we are toohumane to use. Like this -- three, four.""How murderous and bloodthirsty!""They are rather deathy. Now I'll be more inter-esting, and let you see some loose play -- giving all thecuts and points, infantry and cavalry, quicker thanlightning, and as promiscuously -- with just enough ruleto regulate instinct and yet not to fetter it. You aremy antagonist, with this difference from real warfare,that I shall miss you every time by one hair's breadth,or perhaps two. Mind you don't flinch, whatever youdo."I'll be sure not to!" she said invincibly.He pointed to about a yard in front of him.Bathsheba's adventurous spirit was beginning to findsome grains of relish in these highly novel proceedings.She took up her position as directed, facing Troy."Now just to learn whether you have pluck enoughto let me do what I wish, I'll give you a preliminarytest."He flourished the sword by way of introductionnumber two, and the next thing of which she wasconscious was that the point and blade of the swordwere darting with a gleam towards her left side, justabove her hip; then of their reappearance on her rightside, emerging as it were from between her ribs, havingapparently passed through her body. The third itemof consciousness was that of seeing the same sword,perfectly clean and free from blood held vertically inTroy's hand (in the position technically called "recoverswords"). All was as quick as electricity."Oh!" she cried out in affright, pressing her hand toher side." Have you run me through? -- no, you havenot! Whatever have you done!""I have not touched you." said Troy, quietly. "Itwas mere sleight of hand. The sword passed behindyou. Now you are not afraid, are you? Because ifyou are l can't perform. I give my word that l willnot only not hurt you, but not once touch you.""I don't think I am afraid. You are quite sure youwill not hurt me?""Quite sure.""Is the sWord very sharp?""O no -- only stand as still as a statue. Now!"In an instant the atmosphere was transformed toBathsheba's eyes. Beams of light caught from the lowsun's rays, above, around, in front of her, well-nigh shutout earth and heaven -- all emitted in the marvellousevolutions of Troy's reflecting blade, which seemedeverywhere at once, and yet nowherre specially. Thesecircling gleams were accompanied by a keen rush thatwas almost a whistling -- also springing from all sides ofher at once. In short, she was enclosed in a firmamentof light, and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky-full ofmeteors close at hand.Never since the broadsword became the nationalweapon had there been more dexterity shown in itsmanagement than by the hands of Sergeant Troy, andnever had he been in such splendid temper for theperformance as now in the evening sunshine among theferns with Bathsheba. It may safely be asserted withrespect to the closeness of his cuts, that had it beenpossible for the edge of the sword to leave in the air apermanent substance wherever it flew past, the spaceleft untouched would have been almost a mould ofBathsheba's figure.Behind the luminous streams of this aurora militaris,she could see the hue of Troy's sword arm, spread in ascarlet haze over the space covered by its motions, likea twanged harpstring, and behind all Troy himself,mostly facing her; sometimes, to show the rear cuts,half turned away, his eye nevertheless always keenlymeasuring her breadth and outline, and his lips tightlyclosed in sustained effort. Next, his movements lapsedslower, and she could see them individually. Thehissing of the sword had ceased, and he stoppedentirely."That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying, hesaid, before she had moved or spoken. "Wait: I'll doit for you."An arc of silver shone on her right side: the swordhad descended. The lock droped to the ground."Bravely borne!" said Troy. "You didn't flinch ashade's thickness. Wonderful in a woman!""It was because I didn't expect it. O, you havespoilt my hair!""Only once more.""No -- no! I am afraid of you -- indeed I am!" shecried."I won't touch you at all -- not even your hair. Iam only going to kill that caterpillar settling on you.Now: still!"It appeared that a caterpillar had come from thefern and chosen the front of her bodice as his restingplace. She saw the point glisten towards her bosom,and seemingly enter it. Bathsheba closed her eyes inthe full persuasion that she was killed at last. How-ever, feeling just as usual, she opened them again."There it is, look." said the sargeant, holding hissword before her eyes.The caterpillar was spitted upon its point."Why, it is magic!" said Bathsheba, amazed."O no -- dexterity. I merely gave point to yourbosom where the caterpillar was, and instead of runningyou through checked the extension a thousandth of aninch short of your surface.""But how could you chop off a curl of my hair witha sword that has no edge?""No edge! This sword will shave like a razor.Look here."He touched the palm of his hand with the blade,and then, lifting it, showed her a thin shaving of scarf-skin dangling therefrom."But you said before beginning that it was blunt andcouldn't cut me!""That was to get you to stand still, and so make sureof your safety. The risk of injuring you through yourmoving was too great not to force me to tell you afib to escape it."She shuddered. "I have been within an inch of mylife, and didn't know it!""More precisely speaking, you have been within halfan inch of being pared alive two hundred and ninety-fivetinies.""Cruel, cruel, 'tis of you!""You have been perfectly safe, nevertheless. Mysword never errs." And Troy returned the weapon tothe scabbard.Bathsheba, overcome by a hundred tumultuous feel-ings resulting from the scene, abstractedly sat down ona tuft of heather."I must leave you now." said Troy, softly. "And I'llventure to take and keep this in remembrance of you."She saw him stoop to the grass, pick up the windinglock which he had severed from her manifold tresses,twist it round his fingers, unfasten a button in the breastof his coat, and carefully put it inside. She felt power-less to withstand or deny him. He was altogether toomuch for her, and Bathsheba seemed as one who, facinga reviving wind, finds it blow so strongly that it stopsthe breath.He drew near and said, "I must be leaving you."He drew nearer still. A minute later and she saw hisscarlet form disappear amid the ferny thicket, almost ina flash, like a brand swiftly waved.That minute's interval had brought the blood beatinginto her face, set her stinging as if aflame to the veryhollows of her feet, and enlarged emotion to a compasswhich quite swamped thought. It had brought uponher a stroke resulting, as did that of Moses in Horeh, ina liquid stream -- here a stream of tears. She felt likeone who has sinned a great sin.The circumstance had been the gentle dip of Troy'smouth downwards upon her own. He had kissed her.

CHAPTER XXIX

PARTICULARS OF A TWILIGHT WALK

WE now see the element of folly distinctly minglingwith the many varying particulars which made up thecharacter of Bathsheba Everdene. It was almost foreignto her intrinsic nature. Introduced as lymph on thedart of Eros, it eventually permeated and colouredher whole constitution. Bathsheba, though she had toomuch understanding to be entirely governed by herwomanliness, had too much womanliness to use herunderstanding to the best advantage. Perhaps in nominor point does woman astonish her helpmate morethan in the strange power she possesses of believingcajoleries that she knows to be false -- except, indeed, inthat of being utterly sceptical on strictures that sheknows to be true.Bathsheba loved Troy in the way that only self-reliantwomen love when they abandon their self-reliance.When a strong woman recklessly throws away herstrength she is worse than a weak woman who has neverhad any strength to throw away. One source of herinadequacy is the novelty of the occasion. She hasnever had practice in making the best of such acondition. Weakness is doubly weak by being new.Bathsheba was not conscious of guile in this matter.Though in one sense a woman of the world, it was, afterall, that world of daylight coteries and green carpetswherein cattle form the passing crowd and winds thebusy hum; where a quiet family of rabbits or hares liveson the other side of your party-wall, where your neigh-bour is everybody in the tything, and where calculationformulated self-indulgence of bad, nothing at all. Hadher utmost thoughts in this direction been distinctlyworded (and by herself they never were), they wouldonly have amounted to such a matter as that she felther impulses to be pleasanter guides than her discretion .Her love was entire as a child's, and though warm assummer it was fresh as spring. Her culpability lay inher making no attempt to control feeling by subtle andcareful inquiry into consciences. She could show othersthe steep and thorny way, but 'reck'd not her own rede,"And Troy's deformities lay deep down from awoman's vision, whilst his embellishments were uponthe very surface; thus contrasting with homely Oak,whose defects were patent to the blindest, and whosevertues were as metals in a mine.The difference between love and respect was mark-edly shown in her conduct. Bathsheba had spoken ofher interest in Boldwood with the greatest freedom toLiddy, but she had only communed with her own heartconcerning "Troy".All this infatuation Gabriel saw, and was troubledthereby from the time of his daily journey a-field to thetime of his return, and on to the small hours of many anight. That he was not beloved had hitherto been hisgreat that Bathsheba was getting into the toilswas now a sorrow greater than the first, and one whichnearly obscured it. It was a result which paralleledthe oft-quoted observation of Hippocrates concerningphysical pains.That is a noble though perhaps an unpromising lovewhich not even the fear of breeding aversion in thebosom of the one beloved can deter from combating hisor her errors. Oak determined to speak to his mistress.He would base his appeal on what he considered herunfair treatment of Farmer Boldwood, now absent fromhome.An opportunity occurred one evening when she hadgone for a short walk by a path through the neighbour-ing cornfields. It was dusk when Oak, who had notbeen far a-field that day, took the same path and mether returning, quite pensively, as he thought.The wheat was now tall, and the path was narrow;thus the way was quite a sunken groove between theembowing thicket on either side. Two persons couldnot walk abreast without damaging the crop, and Oakstood aside to let her pass."Oh, is it Gabriel?" she said. "You are taking awalk too. Good-night.""I thought I would come to meet you, as it is ratherlate," said Oak, turning and following at her heels whenshe had brushed somewhat quickly by him."Thank you, indeed, but I am not very fearful.""O no; but there are bad characters about.""I never meet them."Now Oak, with marvellous ingenuity, had been goingto introduce the gallant sergeant through the channel of"bad characters." But all at once the scheme brokedown, it suddenly occurring to him that this was rather aclumsy way, and too barefaced to begin with. He triedanother preamble."And as the man who would naturally come to meetyou is away from home, too -- I mean Farmer Boldwood -- why, thinks I, I'll go." he said."Ah, yes." She walked on without turning her head,and for many steps nothing further was heard from herquarter than the rustle of her dress against the heavycorn-ears. Then she resumed rather tartly --"I don't quite understand what you meant by sayingthat Mr. Boldwood would naturally come to meet me."I meant on account of the wedding which they sayis likely to take place between you and him, miss. For-give my speaking plainly.""They say what is not true." she returned quickly.No marriage is likely to take place between us."Gabriel now put forth his unobscured opinion, forthe moment had come. "Well, Miss Everdene." hesaid, "putting aside what people say, I never in my lifesaw any courting if his is not a courting of you."Bathsheba would probably have terminated the con-versation there and then by flatly forbidding the subject,had not her conscious weakness of position allured herto palter and argue in endeavours to better it."Since this subject has been mentioned." she saidvery emphatically, "I am glad of the opportunity ofclearing up a mistake which is very common and veryprovoking. I didn't definitely promise Mr. Boldwoodanything. I have never cared for him. I respect him,and he has urged me to marry him. But I have givenhim no distinct answer. As soon as he returns I shalldo so; and the answer will be that I cannot think ofmarrying him.""People are full of mistakes, seemingly.""They are."The other day they said you were trifling with him,and you almost proved that you were not; lately theyhave said that you be not, and you straightway beginto show -- -- "That I am, I suppose you mean.""Well, I hope they speak the truth."They do, but wrongly applied. I don't trifle withhim; but then, I have nothing to do with him."Oak was unfortunately led on to speak of Boldwood'srival in a wrong tone to her after all. "I wish you hadnever met that young Sergeant Troy, miss." he sighed.

Bathsheba's steps became faintly spasmodic. "Why?"she asked."He is not good enough for 'ee.""Did any one tell you to speak to me like this?""Nobody at all.""Then it appears to me that Sergeant Troy does notconcern us here." she said, intractably." Yet I must saythat Sergeant Troy is an educated man, and quite worthyof any woman. He is well born.""His being higher in learning and birth than theruck o' soldiers is anything but a proof of his worth. Itshow's his course to be down'ard.""I cannot see what this has to do with our conversa-tion. Mr. Troy's course is not by any means downward;and his superiority IS a proof of his worth!""I believe him to have no conscience at all. And Icannot help begging you, miss, to have nothing to dowith him. Listen to me this once -- only this once!I don't say he's such a bad man as I have fancied -- Ipray to God he is not. But since we don't exactlyknow what he is, why not behave as if he MIGHT be bad,simply for your own safety? Don't trust him, mistress;I ask you not to trust him so.""Why, pray?""I like soldiers, but this one I do not like." he said,sturdily. "His cleverness in his calling may havetempted him astray, and what is mirth to the neighboursis ruin to the woman. When he tries to talk to 'ee again,why not turn away with a short "Good day," and whenyou see him coming one way, turn the other. Whenhe says anything laughable, fail to see the pointand don't smile, and speak of him before those who willreport your talk as "that fantastical man." or " thatSergeant What's-his-name." "That man of a familythat has come to the dogs." Don't be unmannerlytowards en, but harmless-uncivil, and so get rid of theman."No Christmas robin detained by a window-pane everpulsed as did Bathsheba now.I say -- I say again -- that it doesn't become you totalk about him. Why he should be mentioned passesme quite . she exclaimed desperately. "I know this,th-th-that he is a thoroughly conscientious man -- bluntsometimes even to rudeness -- but always speaking hismind about you plain to your face!""Oh.""He is as good as anybody in this parish! He isvery particular, too, about going to church -- yes, heis!""I am afraid nobody saw him there. I neverdid certainly.""The reason of that is." she said eagerly, " that he goesin privately by the old tower door, just when the servicecommences, and sits at the back of the gallery. Hetold me so."This supreme instance of Troy's goodness fell uponGabriel ears like the thirteenth stroke of crazy clock.It was not only received with utter incredulity as re-garded itself, but threw a doubt on all the assurancesthat had preceded it.Oak was grieved to find how entirely she trusted him.He brimmed with deep feeling as he replied in a steadyvoice, the steadiness of which was spoilt by the palpable-ness of his great effort to keep it so: --"You know, mistress, that I love you, and shall loveyou always. I only mention this to bring to your mindthat at any rate I would wish to do you no harm:beyond that I put it aside. I have lost in the race formoney and good things, and I am not such a fool as topretend to 'ee now I am poor, and you have got alto-gether above me. But Bathsheba, dear mistress, thisI beg you to consider -- that, both to keep yourself wellhonoured among the workfolk, and in common generosityto an honourable man who loves you as well as I, youPARTICULARS OF A TWILIGHT WALKshould be more discreet in your bearing towards thissoldier.""Don't, don't, don't!" she exclaimed, in a chokingvoice."Are ye not more to me than my own affairs, andeven life!" he went on. "Come, listen to me! I amsix years older than you, and Mr. Boldwood is ten yearsolder than I, and consider -- I do beg of 'ee to considerbefore it is too late -- how safe you would be in hishands!"Oak's allusion to his own love for her lessened, tosome extent, her anger at his interference; but shecould not really forgive him for letting his wish to marryher be eclipsed by his wish to do her good, any morethan for his slighting treatment of Troy."I wish you to go elsewhere." she commanded, apaleness of face invisible to the eye being suggested bythe trembling words. "Do not remain on this farm anylonger. I don't want you -- I beg you to go!""That's nonsense." said Oak, calmly. "This is thesecond time you have pretended to dismiss me; andwhat's the use o' it?""Pretended! You shall go, sir -- your lecturing Iwill not hear! I am mistress here.""Go, indeed -- what folly will you say next? Treatingme like Dick, Tom and Harry when you know that ashort time ago my position was as good as yours! Uponmy life, Bathsheba, it is too barefaced. You know, too,that I can't go without putting things in such a strait asyou wouldn't get out of I can't tell when. Unless, indeed,you'll promise to have an understanding man as bailiff,or manager, or something. I'll go at once if you'llpromise that.""I shall have no bailiff; I shall continue to be myown manager." she said decisively."Very well, then; you should be thankful to me forbiding. How would the farm go on with nobody tomind it but a woman? But mind this, I don't wish"ee to feel you owe me anything. Not I. What I do,I do. Sometimes I say I should be as glad as a bird toleave the place -- for don't suppose I'm content to be anobody. I was made for better things. However, Idon't like to see your concerns going to ruin, as theymust if you keep in this mind.... I hate taking myown measure so plain, but, upon my life, your provok-ing ways make a man say what he wouldn't dream ofat other times! I own to being rather interfering. Butyou know well enough how it is, and who she is that Ilike too well, and feel too much like a fool about to becivil to her!"It is more than probable that she privately and un-consciously respected him a little for this grim fidelity,which had been shown in his tone even more than inhis words. At any rate she murmured something to theeffect that he might stay if he wished. She said moredistinctly, " Will you leave me alone now? I don'torder it as a mistress -- I ask it as a woman, and Iexpect you not to be so uncourteous as to refuse.""Certainly I will, Miss Everdene." said Gabriel, gently.He wondered that the request should have come at thismoment, for the strife was over, and they were on amost desolate hill, far from every human habitation, andthe hour was getting late. He stood still and allowedher to get far ahead of him till he could only see herform upon the sky.A distressing explanation of this anxiety to be rid ofhim at that point now ensued. A figure apparently rosefrom the earth beside her. The shape beyond all doubtwas Troy's. Oak would not be even a possible listener,and at once turned back till a good two hundred yardswere between the lovers and himself.Gabriel went home by way of the churchyard. Inpassing the tower he thought of what she had said aboutthe sergeant's virtuous habit of entering the church un-PARTICULARS OF A TWILIGHT WALKperceived at the beginning of service. Believing thatthe little gallery door alluded to was quite disused, heascended the external flight of steps at the top of whichit stood, and examined it. The pale lustre yet hangingin the north-western heaven was sufficient to show thata sprig of ivy had grown from the wall across the doorto a length of more than a foot, delicately tying thepanel to the stone jamb. It was a decisive proof thatthe door had not been opened at least since Troy cameback to Weatherbury.

CHAPTER XXX

HOT CHEEKS AND TEARFUL EYES

HALF an hour later Bathsheba entered her own house.There burnt upon her face when she met the light ofthe candles the flush and excitement which were littleless than chronic with her now. The farewell words ofTroy, who had accompanied her to the very door, stilllingered in her ears. He had bidden her adieu for twodays, which were so he stated, to be spent at Bath invisiting some friends. He had also kissed her a secondtime.It is only fair to Bathsheba to explain here a littlefact which did not come to light till a long time after-wards: that Troy's presentation of himself so aptly atthe roadside this evening was not by any distinctly pre-concerted arrangement. He had hinted -- she hadforbidden; and it was only on the chance of his stillcoming that she had dismissed Oak, fearing a meetingbetween them just then.She now sank down into a chair, wild and perturbedby all these new and fevering sequences. Then shejumped up with a manner of decision, and fetched herdesk from a side table.In three minutes, without pause or modification, shehad written a letter to Boldwood, at his address beyondCasterbridge, saying mildly but firmly that she had wellconsidered the whole subject he had brought before herand kindly given her time to decide upon; that herfinal decision was that she could not marry him. Shehad expressed to Oak an intention to wait till Boldwoodcame home before communicating to him her conclusivereply. But Bathsheba found that she could not wait.It was impossible to send this letter till the next day;yet to quell her uneasiness by getting it out of her hands,and so, as it were, setting the act in motion at once, shearose to take it to any one of the women who might bein the kitchen.She paused in the passage. A dialogue was goingon in the kitchen, and Bathsheba and Troy were thesubject of it."If he marry her, she'll gie up farming.""Twill be a gallant life, but may bring some troublebetween the mirth -- so say I.""Well, I wish I had half such a husband."Bathsheba had too much sense to mind seriouslywhat her servitors said about her; but too much womanlyredundance of speech to leave alone what was said tillit died the natural death of unminded things. Sheburst in upon them."Who are you speaking of?" she asked.There was a pause before anybody replied. At lastLiddy said frankly," What was passing was a bit of aword about yourself, miss.""I thought so! Maryann and Liddy and Temper-ance -- now I forbid you to suppose such things. Youknow I don't care the least for Mr. Troy -- not I. Every-body knows how much I hate him. -- Yes." repeated thefroward young person, "HATE him!""We know you do, miss." said Liddy; "and so do weall.""I hate him too." said Maryann."Maryann -- O you perjured woman! How can youspeak that wicked story!" said Bathsheba, excitedly."You admired him from your heart only this morningin the very world, you did. Yes, Maryann, you know it!""Yes, miss, but so did you. He is a wild scampnow, and you are right to hate him.""He's NOT a wild scamp! How dare you to my face!I have no right to hate him, nor you, nor anybody.But I am a silly woman! What is it to me what he is?You know it is nothing. I don't care for him; I don"tmean to defend his good name, not I. Mind this, ifany of you say a word against him you'll be dismissedinstantly!"She flung down the letter and surged back into theparlour, with a big heart and tearful eyes, Liddy followingher."O miss!" said mild Liddy, looking pitifully intoBathsheba's face. "I am sorry we mistook you so!did think you cared for him; but I see you don't now.""Shut the door, Liddy."Liddy closed the door, and went on: " People alwayssay such foolery, miss. I'll make answer hencefor'ard,"Of course a lady like Miss Everdene can't love him;"I'll say it out in plain black and white."Bathsheba burst out: "O Liddy, are you such asimpleton? Can't you read riddles? Can't you see?Are you a woman yourself?"Liddy's clear eyes rounded with wonderment."Yes; you must be a blind thing, Liddy!" she said,in reckless abandonment and grief. "O, I love himto very distraction and misery and agony! Don't befrightened at me, though perhaps I am enough to frightenany innocent woman. Come closer -- closer." She puther arms round Liddy's neck. "I must let it out tosomebody; it is wearing me away! Don't you yet knowenough of me to see through that miserable denial ofmine? O God, what a lie it was! Heaven and myLove forgive me. And don't you know that a womanwho loves at all thinks nothing of perjury when it isbalanced against her love? There, go out of the room;I want to be quite alone."Liddy went towards the door."Liddy, come here. Solemnly swear to me that he'snot a fast man; that it is all lies they say about him!""Put, miss, how can I say he is not if -- -- ""You graceless girl! How can you have the cruelheart to repeat what they say? Unfeeling thing thatyou are.... But I'LL see if you or anybody else in thevillage, or town either, dare do such a thing!" Shestarted off, pacing from fireplace to door, and backagain."No, miss. I don't -- I know it is not true!" saidLiddy, frightened at Bathsheba's unwonted vehemence.I suppose you only agree with me like that to pleaseme. But, Liddy, he CANNOT BE had, as is said. Do you